Cold and Hunger
by Holly of the Night
Summary: Hunger can be torture. Cold can be brutal. Together they can make a cat do things they would never have thought possible. Anything to survive.


**A story entered for The Gone Angel's prompt contest.**

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_White snow and red fur do not go well together_, Flameheart thought as he sourly watched a blackbird caw loudly from the trees above, alerting all prey of his appearance.

Stupid bird.

The tom trudged through the cold snow. The wind, although cold, was not rough. He thanked the Stars for the forest to protect him from the harshest of the wind. He could not understand how WindClan could deal with Leaf bare on a barren stretch of land with thin coats! They must think the cold makes them tougher or something.

He nosed curiously through horestails. Sometimes mice might come here for a nibble-

The tom looked over his shoulder.

What was that?

He stayed absolutely still, his eyes roving through the bushes. He thought he saw... there!

It was a cat. A small thin cat was watching him beneath a white-filled blackberry bush.

"Hey, get out of here!" Flameheart mewed. "Go on, shoot!"

The cat slowly eased himself out of the bush, showering small thin flakes on his pelt. He shook himself and looked Flameheart up and down for a few moments. Without looking at him he called a low mew over his shoulder.

Cats appeared. They slipped quietly through the trees and stood attention next to the one who called them. Flameheart gaped. They were so quiet! How long had they been standing there, watching him? There had to be six of them.

They all stared at the tom not with hostility, but curiosity as if he was not dangerous. A brown and gray she-cat was whispering to the small cat and pointed at Flameheart's shoulders. He nodded enthusiastically. The tom did not like the gleam that sprouted from their eyes.

"I said get out of here!" Flameheart ordered, unsettled by their silence. "You're in ThunderClan territory."

They gave no indication that they heard him. Their only response was that unblinking stare. Finally, without a word, they separated and began to surround him.

Flameheart growled a warning. They ignored it.

He leapt at the closest cat. A skinny white and gray she-cat. They rolled over and over, screeching and biting, clawing for dominance. Flameheart was much stronger. He easily over powered her and tossed her away.

The moment he turned claws flashed before his eyes. He instinctively jerked his head back, then stepped forward and hammered his forehead against the cat's nose. The rouge fell back, blood spraying from his nose.

Flameheart ducked, flicked his claws and stepped as carefully as he could around them. These cats were relentless. He was strong, but they had him beat in numbers. He couldn't do this forever.

He broke off and backed away. Blood flecked his eyes. He shook it away. They were all wounded, one of the rouges had his front paw up, sprained from a clumsy dive against the Warrior. Flameheart flushed with power, but the rush was steadily losing its power. Exhaustion began to settle. The Rouges were licking their lips quickly, their sharp eyes found his lethargic movements. It was all they needed.

They bum rushed him. It was done without warning. They began snapping his limbs, tearing into his pelt. Colored pelts and writing bodies was all Flameheart could see and feel. Something sharp grinded his thigh. His eyes widened in realization.

Dear StarClan, these cats are trying to eat me!

He screeched and flung them off him. One or two of the rouges fell back, the rest easily regained their balance and circled him once again. The hungry look in their eyes rove over his tired body, the blood oozing from his flesh.

He knew Leaf bare was bad, but were they that desperate they would try to eat him?! Flameheart couldn't believe it.

The cat to his left leapt. Flameheart shot beneath his attacker, hissing as claws raked his back. He tore through the forest. Behind him he could hear the steady pursuit of his attackers as they followed his trail of blood. He could picture the feral look in their eyes. He was the prey, and they the predators.

The tom ran blindly through the trees. Thorns tore through his pelt, his paws ached and bloodied after scuffing them on hidden rocks in the snow. He knew he was panicking, but he didn't care. He let it fuel his limbs, lead him instinctively to the forest that suddenly felt forest to him.

He burst through the trees and found himself on the edge of a cliff.

He swore. "Of all the directions, I took the one with a dead end!"

The thin bushes shuffled. Eyes peered intently at him. The cats slipped quietly through the trees, panting with effort and excitement. They circled him again.

Flameheart bristled and hissed backed away. The rouges' nostrils flared, drinking in his fear scent.

Flameheart took another step back. They edged closer, eyes watching unblinkingly, rooting him to the spot.

Flamheart looked over his shoulder at the sheer drop.

_Let myself get eaten, or jump?_ Flameheart didn't like either choice. He'd prefer a third option. Shame it does not always go that way in a life or death situation.

"You want to eat me so badly?" Flameheart spat. "You'll have to work harder for it!"

He leaped. The rouges screeched in dismay as Flameheart plummeted. The wind tugged powerfully against his fur. His eyes stung and his ears roared as the ground loomed closer and closer.

He closed his eyes.


End file.
